<div dir="ltr"> The harsh glare and piercing words had an immediate effect on Nathan, who paled and stepped back against the wall, but Rodrick stood up straight and looked him in the eye with a thin smile. "So you are Misha Brightleaf. I knew it from the moment I saw that black axe. Whisper, you call it? Almost as famous as you are." From the moment Rodrick started speaking, Misha stared at him with eyes cold enough to have frozen Oblineth. Roderick could only smile. Finally, a challenger worthy of conversation. With the great Misha Brightleaf! Goading Jerrod was a fun hobby, and Reed had his share of secrets to unearth, but none of his companions had any true willpower for a test of wills. The stone-faced Misha was a mere cobblestone road to him, daring him to keep on talking, to test the resolve of the legendary fox-man. After Rodrick finished his short speech, Misha's glower deepened. "Consider yourselves lucky that you are not on her receiving end." Rodrick tilted his nose up a smidge. "She seems to be a runic weapon, isn't she? Quite rare. Three thousand years old, if I'm not mistaken. It must be quite an honor to wie--" There was a sudden black blur, and the magic barrier exploded. It happened so quickly, with such volume and brightness, that Rodrick couldn't stop himself from flinching. Weakness! Rodrick quickly tried to recover, but was halted by the sharp edge of the black axe, less than an inch from his eyeballs, where Misha had swung it straight through what had been his invisible cell wall. "You attacked innocent people of Metamor," Misha hissed. "If any of them had died, your head would be a smear on that wall right now. You have no right to speak to me as an equal. You are under my protection now. And I can easily rescind that. Do I make myself clear?" Rodrick opened his mouth and felt it quiver. Stop losing! Stop losing! But whatever witty rejoinder he could have made, died on his throat. Never had he been at the mercy of someone so clearly skilled in combat, with so heavy an advantage, so unmoved by his attempts at flattery. Would Misha seriously kill him? There was no official death penalty in Metamor, as far as he knew. But this was Misha Brightleaf, hero of a thousand tales. He might get away with it. In any case, there was nothing to be gained by aggravating him. Sometimes survival was more important than pride. Rodrick swallowed, forcing some color back onto his face. He lifted his eyes to Misha's chin, but no higher. "Yes, milord," he croaked. The fox's gray eyes remained fixed on him for several long seconds... or was it minutes? Finally, he looked aside, body motionless, to the cell guards who had been staring from the exit. "My compliments to the mage who built these cells. Very solid construction. I'll see that the mage is reimbursed to replace it." "Uh, yes, Misha," the woman stammered. "I believe you were going to shackle them?" The winged horse clopped a salute and entered Rodrick's cell, carefully stooping under the axe to take Rodrick's motionless hands. "Foolish words for a thug to make! And to Misha Brightleaf, whose enemies tremble and..." "Give me a break," Rodrick whispered with the slightest of eyerolls. The horse gripped his wrists a bit tighter as he clapped the manacles on. "Mercy only comes to those who seek her grace. Remember your crimes have brought you to this place." The chains sagged on Rodrick's wrists as the winged horse released him. The weight was unexpected; they should have been much lighter from the way the horse had held them. As they swayed, Rodrick tried to get a feel for their weight. He imagined swinging them at the horse, and pivoting on his heel so that the chains slammed upon the famous axe that could cleave metal. The weight suddenly deepened, breaking Rodrick's thoughts. Moments later, the weight lifted as if suddenly immersed in water. Magic! Of course. Metamor was not short on magic. All it would take is a passive aura reading and a shift in elemental temperament to create such weight-shifting chains. Curses! If only he had the talent for magic, instead of merely hearing about it from others. Nathan had already stepped out from his cell by now, hands bound, face contrite, knees shaking. Weakness! But it was fine for Nathan to be weak, for he had enough strength to keep his mouth shut. Rodrick cursed himself again, and twenty times more, for flinching before the axe. Was he no better than a child to flinch from a weapon? He should have been ready for it. This Misha was more dangerous than he'd been led to believe. "Heh, you certainly shut him up!" The female guard laughed. "You should have heard him earlier, Misha. That man's been ripping on animal morphs since this morning." Misha stood there casually with his axe, yet appraised both prisoners with a fine eye, hand still firmly on Whisper, waiting for a sudden movement. Truly, there was not a single part of his body not under total control! "Both of you are heading to middens duty in Euper," Misha said. "I advise against running. It will do you no good. There are even fouler places where you could be headed." He focused his eyes on Rodrick. "You'll both be working for at least a week, or until I am satisfied by your change of heart. Do you both understand?" "Yessir," Nathan said promptly. "I do," Rodrick said. "Sir," he quickly added at Misha's stare. Weakness! He wasn't used to showing humility. Unless some viable means of escape presented itself, there was nothing to do but go along with this punishment. He had to earn this fox-man's respect. He had to be stronger! All he had to do was endure a bit of humiliation. "One last thing," Misha said, raising an arm. The horse quickly reached behind the exit to fetch a short coil of rope. "Just to make sure you don't get funny ideas." With the armed guards still watching Rodrick, Misha bent down over Nathan and tied one end around the manacles. "Don't be mad at him," Nathan murmured. "He ain't bad people. 'e's just independent." Misha made no response. He stood and pulled the free end through Rodrick's manacles. "Now let's get going." Misha started off, pulling Nathan along and forcing Rodrick along with them. Curses! Did he really have a week to spend like this? </div>